Christmas Day And Every Day

    Star high,
    Baby low:
    'Twixt the two
    Wise men go;
    Find the baby,
    Grasp the star--
    Heirs of all things
    Near and far!

George MacDonald

George MacDonald (1824–1905) was a Scottish author, poet, and Christian minister best known for his fairy tales and fantasy novels. He was a pioneer in the fantasy genre, influencing notable writers such as C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkien. His major works include "Phantastes" and "Lilith," as well as numerous poems and other literary works. MacDonald's writings are characterized by their imaginative qualities and deep spiritual insight.

George MacDonald

On A Midge

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Translations. - Part Ii. Sonnet Lxxv. (From Petrarch.)

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

An Old Story.

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

Morning Hymn

George MacDonald, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

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Christmas, 1873

    Christmas-Days are still in store:--
        Will they change--steal faded hither?
    Or come fresh as heretofore,
        Summering all our winter weather?

    Surely they will keep their bloom
        All the countless pacing ages:
    In the country whence they come
        Children only are the sages!

    Hither, every hour and year,
        Children come to cure our oldness--
    Oft, alas, to gather sear
        Unbelief, and earthy boldness!

    Men they grow and women cold,
        Selfish, passionate, and plaining!
    Ever faster they grow old:--
        On the world, ah, eld is gaining!

    Child, whose childhood ne'er departs!
        Jesus, with the perfect father!
    Drive the age from parents' hearts;

George MacDonald

Christmas-Day, 1878

I think I might be weary of this day
That comes inevitably every year,
The same when I was young and strong and gay,
The same when I am old and growing sere--
I should grow weary of it every year
But that thou comest to me every day.

I shall grow weary if thou every day
But come to me, Lord of eternal life;
I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray,
For ever out of labour into strife;
Take everlasting house with me, my life,
And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day.

Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day,
But ever he the Father, thou the Son;
I am his child, but being born alway--
How long, O Lord, how long till it be done?
Be thou from endless years to years the Son--
And I thy brother, new-born every day.

George MacDonald

Christmas Day, 1850

Beautiful stories wed with lovely days
    Like words and music:--what shall be the tale
    Of love and nobleness that might avail
To express in action what this sweetness says--

The sweetness of a day of airs and rays
    That are strange glories on the winter pale?
    Alas, O beauty, all my fancies fail!
I cannot tell a story in thy praise!

Thou hast, thou hast one--set, and sure to chime
    With thee, as with the days of "winter wild;"
        For Joy like Sorrow loves his blessed feet
Who shone from Heaven on Earth this Christmas-time
    A Brother and a Saviour, Mary's child!--
        And so, fair day, thou hast thy story sweet.

George MacDonald

Christmas Meditation

    He who by a mother's love
        Made the wandering world his own,
    Every year comes from above,
        Comes the parted to atone,
        Binding Earth to the Father's throne.

    Nay, thou comest every day!
        No, thou never didst depart!
    Never hour hast been away!
        Always with us, Lord, thou art,
        Binding, binding heart to heart!

George MacDonald

Christmas, 1884

    Though in my heart no Christmas glee,
        Though my song-bird be dumb,
    Jesus, it is enough for me
        That thou art come.

    What though the loved be scattered far,
        Few at the board appear,
    In thee, O Lord, they gathered are,
        And thou art here.

    And if our hearts be low with lack,
        They are not therefore numb;
    Not always will thy day come back--
        Thyself will come!

George MacDonald

A Christmas Carol For 1862

THE YEAR OF THE TROUBLE IN LANCASHIRE.

    The skies are pale, the trees are stiff,
        The earth is dull and old;
    The frost is glittering as if
        The very sun were cold.
    And hunger fell is joined with frost,
        To make men thin and wan:
    Come, babe, from heaven, or we are lost;
        Be born, O child of man.

    The children cry, the women shake,
        The strong men stare about;
    They sleep when they should be awake,
        They wake ere night is out.
    For they have lost their heritage--
        No sweat is on their brow:
    Come, babe, and bring them work and wage;
        Be born, and save us now.

    Across the sea, beyond our sight,
        Roars on the fierce debate;
    The men go d...

George MacDonald